


A Winter's Tale

by theoofoof



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoofoof/pseuds/theoofoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does Harry feel on the first Christmas since Ruth has been forced into exile. Songfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Spooks or any of the characters you may recognise. They all belong to Kudos/BBC. Neither do I own A Winter's Tale - that belongs to David Essex, Tim Rice and Mike Batt.
> 
> I have been in love with this song since I was about 8 or 9 and I got a free cassette of it in one of my selection boxes that Christmas. I was listening to it the other day and it struck me that the story it told would be similar to Harry's after Ruth had left in Series 5. I sat down at my laptop that night and this is what came of it. It's not a particularly happy fic but I hope that it's honest and in some ways hopeful

_The nights are colder now - maybe I should close the door._   
_And anyway, the snow has covered all your footsteps_   
_And I can follow you no more_

* * *

Harry sighed and looked out over the garden. It was covered with snow, an unbroken carpet of white, marred only at the very edge where the cats had left their tracks. Everything was very still. The world seemed to be holding its breath - even a robin perched, poised and motionless, on one snow-covered branch of the small tree at the end of the garden. It looked desperately lonely without its leaves and snow laid thickly along its branches.

“It’s not the only one that’s lonely,” thought Harry forlornly.

Harry did not quite seem to belong in this world as he stood very still, his eyes unseeing, the black of his suit a sharp contrast to the crisp whiteness of his surroundings. He gave off an air of vague melancholy; sorrow which had worn out the screaming and violent fits of temper and now just remained; ceaselessly wearing away at him, a tide washing endlessly at a weathered rock on the coast.

His daughter, Catherine, stood inside, watching him with indefinite sadness. It had been almost six months, and although Harry had outwardly forgotten everything that had happened, there were times when she wondered if he had recovered from losing Ruth at all. If there was ever a day that went by when he did not picture her face, dream up her voice in his head or imagine her with him again.

Quietly, Catherine moved outside to stand with her father on the terrace of his town house in central London. Reaching out slowly, she laid her hand on his shoulder. “Dad?”

Harry started at the touch, nodding briefly when he saw her.

“It’s cold,” she whispered, the vapours of her breath a stark contrast to the darkness of the hour. “Don’t you think it’s time to come inside?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that cold.”

Catherine turned and closed the door, keeping the heat in the house, but remained with her father. There was no wind; the entire garden was very still. She stood beside Harry for a moment, surveying the snow-covered garden.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked.

“They’re not worth it,” was his reply, as he brushed a layer of snow off the top of the bin and allowed the residue to melt on his bare hands.

* * *

_The fire still burns at night_   
_My memories are warm and clear_   
_But everybody knows it's hard to be alone at this time of year._

* * *

Catherine watched as the snow slowly melted on Harry’s hands and sighed inwardly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay tonight?” She knew her father was used to being alone on Christmas, but this year, the first after Ruth’s departure, she worried Harry might feel the loneliness even more keenly.

There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “In case of what? Monsters?” He brushed the snow from his hands with a careless, curiously elegant gesture.

Catherine wondered briefly at the sudden glimmer of recognition, the momentary acknowledgement of those nights when she was a child, where she would beg him to sit with her while she fell asleep; scared of monsters that might have been hiding under her bed. She’d grown up though and their relationship had been tested but since meeting again while she was working within the November Committee relationship had shifted slowly from undisguised hostility, through guarded, long-suppressed flickerings of liking, to the ease that was now between them. How it should be between a father and his daughter.

Catherine watched Harry sink back into his reverie, his hands now lying restlessly over the wall that bordered the garden, seeming unconscious of the snow beneath his fingers.

"Come on," she said at last. "We’ll both catch pneumonia if we continue to stand out here all night. Let's go in and have a cup of tea."

Harry looked up, a veil falling from his eyes as he slowly returned to the present, and Catherine realised that he had registered neither the cold nor the snow. "Forgive me," he said with a quite disarming sincerity. "I must confess to not paying attention."

Catherine smiled in spite of herself. Infuriating, sarcastic, and downright impolite as her father could be, he still possessed a uniquely sincere charm that prevented her from ever remaining seriously displeased with him for very long.

"I said let's go inside," she repeated. "It's freezing out here."

She was slightly surprised with the ease at which Harry capitulated.

Once inside, Catherine bent to turn up the fire coaxing it to a bright blaze. Harry had drifted to the window, and was staring out into the snow-blanketed garden, his eyes once again distant. She had to call his name three times before she managed to break into her father’s melancholic reverie.

“Sorry,” he said at last coming over to sit in his armchair and cradle the cup of tea Catherine handed to him. “I’m probably not very good company for you this evening.

“Well, you do seem a tad preoccupied,” Catherine acknowledged with a faint smile. She came to sit in the chair next to her father, her expression showing concern. “Is there something wrong?”

Harry’s voice was soft. “No,” he replied, staring down into his tea tilting the cup absently from one side to the other to make the contents dance.

* * *

_It was only a winter's tale_   
_Just another winter's tale._   
_And why should the world take notice_   
_Of one more love that's failed?_   
_It was a love that could never be_   
_Though it meant a lot to you and me_   
_On a worldwide scale we're just another winter's tale._

* * *

They did not speak of Ruth now; although Catherine knew she was ever on his mind, Harry had bricked off the special, deeply cherished part of his heart where he had enshrined his memories of her, and had restricted her to that tightly walled cell.

There was only one time, of which Catherine was away, when Harry had spoken about Ruth since she had been forced to leave. She had sent him a postcard. Whatever it had contained it was not for any eyes but his own, and he guarded the secret of what she had said to him at the very last in his heart, which made Catherine sad to watch.

Whatever she had written, it had tipped the stable, balanced equilibrium that he had worked so tenuously to maintain. Catherine had come to visit him to find him slumped on the sofa, surrounded by Chinese takeaway cartons and an empty bottle of whiskey, which by the smell in the air, had been full when Harry had taken solace in it.

When she had roused him and his hangover had been cured he told her the tale of him and Ruth. How he had loved her from afar for almost 2 years before finally plucking up the courage to ask her to dinner. How he’d enjoyed their date so much that he’d whistled all the way home. And how his happiness had been ripped away when, first Ruth had run from him, scared of what others might say _about their relationship, and then more permanently by her forced exile._

_“I loved her,” he’d said in a voice that was so small that Catherine had to strain to hear him. “I still love her.”_

_“I don’t know what to say to give you any comfort except that at least she’s safe.”_

_“We don’t know that for sure.”_

_“I’m sure you’d know if something had happened to her. You told me once you only have the best agents on your team… they’d find out.”_

_They’d talked a little more about Ruth and Catherine had found herself wishing she’d met the woman who had made such an impact on her father._

* * *

_While I stand alone_   
_A bell is ringing far away._   
_I wonder if you hear, I wonder if you're listening_   
_I wonder where you are today._   
_Good luck, I wish you well,_   
_For all that wishes may be worth_   
_I hope that love and strength are with you for the length of your time on earth._

* * *

Sometime later, when they’d finished their tea, Harry ushered Catherine to the door; her arms full of presents for her and her brother.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” she asked again, her eyes searching his face.

Harry smiled inwardly; his daughter’s continually overprotective concern never failed to amuse him. And yet, she was right of course, as she always was. Harry did not want to be alone this Christmas but, and it sounded awful to say of his own flesh and blood, it was not her who could salve his pain.  He shook his head. "Thank you, sweetheart, but no. You go to your mum’s; and say hello to everyone for me.

Catherine gave her father a hug and then, promising to ring him the next morning, slowly made her way down the path to her car.

“Drive safely!” Harry called.

Catherine nodded.

Once she had driven off, Harry closed the door of the house, and wandered back through the kitchen and out into the garden. The robin had flown away, and footprints, both his own and Catherine's, marred the surface of the snow. But the garden was still very peaceful; very still.

He returned to the wall and leaned on it, heedless of the snow soaking through the sleeves of his jacket, and gazed out across the whiteness of the park that backed on to his house. Down the road, the church bell began to toll. Harry glanced up, listening. Perhaps she could hear it, wherever she was. Surely, wherever she was, she would be somewhere near a church. The thought of that shared experience made him smile, although he was not aware of the outward expression.

He liked to think of her being happy. He still missed her, of course; the feeling of overwhelming despair at her absence washed over him regularly, and he would have sold his soul for another hour with her; but somehow it was comforting to think of her abroad somewhere making use of her brilliant language skills. Right now, Harry could recall her face, her smile, her mannerisms in exact detail. But he knew that over time, his memories of her would fade, become fuzzy and gradually disappear. He doubted her would ever forget her completely; she was too burnt into him for that to happen, thankfully. But he knew there would come a time when he wouldn't be able to remember the sound of her laugh, the exact curve of her smile, the feel of her lips against his. He was dreading that day.

The only small comfort was that she had made it out of the service; alive. She was able to enjoy life without the responsibility of protecting the country above all else, even her own life. She wouldn't face the same fate as Danny, Fiona or Colin. He wished that she was safe and well.He didn't suppose it made any real difference, but it made him feel better to think of her as continuing under his protection, even if in such a small way.

It was beginning to get dark. Harry glanced up at the twilight sky where tiny pinpricks of stars were shining through the curtain of darkness. Distantly, he could hear his dog Scarlet barking from inside the house and as he stood up straight, he realised that his suit was wet through with melted snow.

As he stood, it began to snow again; tiny flakes, light as air, drifting slowly down from the heavens, each one a feather-soft kiss on his face. He smiled.

As Scarlet’s barking grew louder and more determined, Harry brushed the snow from his jacket and crossed the garden to go back inside. As he reached the door, he paused, and looked up into the star-spotted sky and softly drifting snowflakes and whispered, “Merry Christmas my love… wherever you are.”

* * *

_It was only a winter's tale_   
_Just another winter's tale._   
_And why should the world take notice_   
_Of one more love that's failed?_   
_It was a love that could never be_   
_Though it meant a lot to you and me_   
_On a worldwide scale we're just another winter's tale._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while... I always intended to continue this story but my muse failed me (I never got past the first couple of lines) but now she's back and I'm writing this again! I hope you enjoy. Please leave a review to let me know. I think there'll be 4 or 5 chapters in total to this story.

When Harry returned to the house, he found Scarlet sat in the hallway; eyes fixed resolutely on the front door, and still barking.

"What is it girl?" he asked, bending down to scratch her behind the ear.

The only answer he got was another bark, directed at the front door. Scarlet wasn't known for barking for no reason, so Harry moved towards the door, opening it stealthily. It was dark out; the streetlamp opposite was broken, leaving the street shrouded in almost blackness. The only light was from the twinkling Christmas lights on the houses on his street.

At the end of his path, next to the cypress tree, stood a lone figure shrouded in shadow. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he could make out more of their features; and his heart stopped. It was her.

She's bundled up against the cold; grey woollen coat paired with a red hart and scarf, her hands stuffed into her pockets. Her boots crunched on the snow as she made her way, slowly, tentatively up the garden path towards him.

She was halfway to the door before she spoke. "Hello Harry," she said with a shy smile.

"Hello," he replied, before looking up and down the street, checking no one was following her. "You should come inside…" he said, stepping aside to allow her to pass into the house.

He shut and locked the door behind them, and in the light of his hallway, looked at the woman who five minutes ago he thought he'd never see again. She was bent down stroking his very excitable Jack Russell, smiling as Scarlett stood on her back legs and put her front paws on her knee in an effort to get closer to the visitor to lick her nose. Her dark hair was peeking out from under her hat – it was longer, wavier than it had been when she left. She looked well; her face free of worry or stress.

"Should you be here?" he asked. "Is it safe?"

Ruth stood and turned to face him. "Do you think I'd be here if it wasn't?" she replied.

"Sorry," Harry offered. "I just wanted to make sure…" He trailed off at the touch of her hand on his forearm.

"It's perfectly safe Harry, Malcolm assured me that the people who were looking for me are no longer a threat. That with the change of government, their priorities have changed."

"You've spoken to Malcolm?" He couldn't help but be hurt that's she had contacted his friend instead of him directly.

Ruth nodded. "I sent him an email a few months ago – used a dead account that I wasn't even sure he still checked, but I had to try Harry. I missed…" She paused, unsure whether to reveal the depths of her feelings. Yes, they'd kissed that day on the docks, but it had been a long time since then… he may have moved on. "I missed home," she finally said, deciding to wait before telling him anything deeper than that.

"Are you… do you want to go through," he asked, indicating the living room door.

Ruth nodded and began to unbutton her coat. Harry helped her off with it, hanging it over the bannister, before showing her through to the lounge, Scarlett hot on their heels.

"Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee? Wine?"

"Tea please," she replied. "I don't think I've had a proper cup of tea since I left."

"Make yourself comfortable," Harry offered, before disappearing into the kitchen to fetch their drinks and wondering what she was doing here, what had prompted her return.

* * *

He returned to find Ruth sat on his sofa, her stocking feet curled at her side, looking relaxed and comfortable; like she belonged there. He handed her her tea.

"Thank you," she said, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip. "Mmmm. That's heavenly."

He smiled. "Good."

"You've not got a tree," she observed, looking around the room.

"No. I… I wasn't really feeling very festive this year," he admitted.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments, the meaning behind his words not lost on weather of them. The months since she had been forced to leave have been a tremendous trial for both of them; for Ruth the trauma of having to leave the life she knew, compounded by missing Harry. For Harry, the guilt he had felt at not being able to stop what had happened had weighed heavily on him since that fateful day. They'd both rued the missed opportunities they had to be together and had vowed that should they ever be granted a second chance that they would grab it with both hands. Now that their chance had arrived, however, they were both a little apprehensive, nervous about how to proceed.

"So, where did you go?" Harry eventually asked, when his thoughts became too much. "When you… left?"

"I travelled for a while. France, Belgium, The Netherlands, down through Germany and Switzerland, before settling in Italy. I've been in Florence for the nearly three months now."

"Quite the tour," he smiled sadly, remembering his words to her on their one and only date, about taking a trip, visiting all the capitals of Europe, implying that he'd love to take her.

"Not quite," she whispered, remembering the same conversation. "I avoided the capitals. They were too grand to see alone." A blush crept up her cheeks.

He smiled. "And now you're back?"

"For a few days, yes. Testing the waters so to speak. I didn't really have anywhere else to go… I assume my mother and David think I'm dead?"

He nodded sadly.

Ruth welled up at the thought of her mother being told she'd lost her only child. "H-how… how did she…?"

"She was heartbroken Ruth; do you really want to know how much?" Harry asked gently. He didn't particularly want to relive that day, and he was sure Ruth didn't need to hear how her mother had broken down at hearing the news, screaming and wailing before going into a semi-catatonic state for nearly three days.

Ruth considered the look of apprehension on Harry's face. "No. Maybe it's best not to."

"If it's safe for you to be back and to have contact with her – something that I'd like to check on myself – I'll go and see her, try to explain."

"You don't trust Malcolm's analysis of the situation?" she queried.

"It's not that. I have a few contacts, higher up in the echelons of government. I'd like to feel them out first. I need to be one hundred percent sure," he said, while thinking to himself how he couldn't possibly lose her again.

"Okay," she agreed. "So…" She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "Is it okay if I stay? I understand if not… if you've got plans."

He shook his head. "No. No plans."

Her brow furrowed. "You're not seeing your children?" She remembered he'd worked hard to rebuild his relationship with Catherine after she'd been involved in a MI-5 operation a few years previously.

"Catherine was here earlier. She and Graham are spending Christmas with their mother, as is tradition. I'll probably see them again around New Year. She said she'd phone in the morning though."

At the thought of Harry spending Christmas alone, Ruth was suddenly incredibly glad she'd returned. In his emails, Malcolm had alluded to the fact that he didn't think Harry was coping very well with her exile and had been drinking more and making rash decisions. As soon as she'd received the okay from Malcolm to come home, last week, she'd booked the first flight she could get on – not realising until afterwards that she would land on Christmas Eve.

"You're very welcome to stay Ruth." He stood. "I'll make up the spare room."

"Thank you."

Harry nodded. "Although, I'm not sure what I can offer in the way of Christmas dinner tomorrow," he said.

"I'll be happy with whatever we can rustle up between us. It's a shame about the tree though," she said, looking longingly at the Christmas lights shining in through the living room window.

Harry considered for a moment. Ruth always had love Christmas; her desk on The Grid was always decorated and she was always the first to have written and distributed her cards. He remembered shed once, in their early working relationship, she'd called him 'Scrooge' for not allowing the team to decorate the grid. Here she was, sacrificing her Christmas to be with him and he didn't even have a tree.

"There's an old plastic one in the loft," he replied, "a box of decorations top, I think. I don't know what state they're in but I can pull it down… If you like?"

"Only if it's no trouble," she said, but she couldn't hide her smile. It warmed Harry's heart.

"No trouble at all," he assured.


	3. Chapter 3

"It's not too bad," said Ruth, her head tilted, critically eyeing the four-foot-tree that they'd assembled in the corner of the living room.

"It's a bit scrawny," he replied. "I'd forgotten that."

Ruth smiled. "How long is it since you've actually used this tree?" she asked, blowing a film of dust of the box marked 'xmas decorations'.

"A couple of years," he admitted. "I've worked the last two Christmases; was hardly home so didn't see the point."

She opened the box, and pulled out a garland of gold tinsel, followed by a red one. "These look okay," she told him. Once she'd taken all the tinsel out, she peered into the box. "Some nice baubles in here," she said, taking out a shiny gold one. "I think we'll have a nice tree by the end of it."

They set about draping the tinsel over the branches. Harry in a rather haphazard fashion, Ruth following him, adjusting the placement slightly.

He chuckled when he realised what she was doing. "I didn't realise you were such a perfectionist," he commented. She certainly hadn't been in regards to the tidiness of her desk: it had always been strewn with papers, looking quite disorganised, although, whenever he asked her for a report or file, she could always put her hands on it straightaway, so there must have been some sort of method to her madness.

"Only about certain things," she replied with a smile. "Christmas trees being one of the main ones, beaten only by my alphabetised book collection."

Harry remembered that, he'd had to clear out her flat and apart from the few books sat on her bedside table that she had been reading, every other had its rightful place in the floor to ceiling bookcases in her living room.

"Oh, now this is cute!" Ruth exclaimed, gently picking up a home-made star, covered in glitter.

Harry looked up from the bauble he was putting a hook in and smiled. "Catherine made that at school. She must have been about six or seven."

"Did she make this one too?" She held up a reindeer made of ice lolly sticks arranged into a triangle shape, with a red nose on the point at the bottom. Clearly meant to be Rudolph.

Harry scrutinised it for a moment. "No, that one was Graham I think. These are the only two of theirs that I have. The rest went with Jane."

She passed them to Harry. " _You_ should hang them."

Harry took them from Ruth carefully and hung them on two prominent branches.

They continued to decorate the tree, adding decorations and sharing stories about their childhood Christmases. After about half an hour, the box of decorations was empty and Harry was fighting with a set of lights.

"Bloody things," he cursed, trying to work out how to go about getting them out of the massive knot they were in. "How do they even get like this?"

"Do they still work?" she asked, fighting back a smirk. "Perhaps you should check that before you go to all the bother of untangling them."

Reluctantly, Harry paused his task to plug them in. Amazingly, they flickered to life. "It's a miracle," declared Harry.

"A Christmas miracle," agreed Ruth and they shared a smile. She held out her hand. "Here, I'll hold the end while you work on getting them untangled."

When they were untangled, Harry put them on the tree while Ruth went to make some more tea.

She returned as Harry was hooking the final light in place. He stepped back to peruse their work and Ruth handed him a mug of tea. "It's not half bad, is it?"

"It's beautiful," she commented, as she returned to the room. It may only have been a small tree but it emitted a glow which, coupled with the warmth from the fire and the Christmas carols coming from the stereo, gave the room a festive feel.

As Harry looked around the room, a wave of sadness overcame him. Ruth had left the country; her family, friends, everything she knew to ensure that he was safe; that he stayed out of prison and in a job. And how had he repaid her sacrifice? By making reckless decisions, wallowing in self-pity and searching for solace in the bottom of a whisky bottle. He should have been living… It's what she would have wanted. "I wish I'd made more of an effort," Harry admitted. "But without you, life has just been so…" he trailed off with a shrug.

She stepped towards him and slipped her hand into his free one, giving it a small squeeze. "Oh Harry!"

He gripped her hand, suddenly fearful of ever letting go. "When you burst into the briefing room four years ago, dropping files all over the place, my life suddenly became a brighter place. It was like I'd been living in a world of muted colours but when you walked in everything was so vivid. Since you left I've been living in a world of black and white, but tonight I'm seeing in colour again."

The air between them was charged; this was the most open he'd ever been with her. He'd tried, that day on the docks, but she'd stopped him. If he'd continued, she wouldn't have been able to get on the boat and sail away from him. She'd spent so long running from what was between them, if she hadn't gotten scared, she may not have even been home the morning that Mik Maudsley had jumped in front of that train, throwing their life into chaos – she blushed at the thought of where she could have been and what she'd have been doing – and they may never have been separated.

Here he was again, putting his heart out there. Yes, she'd come to him, returned but that wasn't enough. He deserved the same openness, the same display of courage from her. Yet what could she say? He'd said it all. Everything he'd said applied to her too. These past few months, she'd just been existing, not living. She'd travelled to some of the most beautiful places in Europe, but she hadn't been able to appreciate the beauty because of the gaping hole in her heart.

Not able to find the words to express how she was feeling, she allowed instinct to take over. She stepped even closer to him and put her hand on his chest, right over his heart. Looking up at him through lidded eyes, she flashed him a nervous smile before pushing up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading - I hope it wasn't too depressing. Please do leave a review and let me know what you thought. I'm toying with the idea of another chapter or a sequel but I have no idea if that will come off, so for now this story is complete but you never know what may happen in the future


End file.
